John's First Cake
by ClassyRainbowAristocrat
Summary: John makes a cake all by himself This is really just an excuse to write Egbert pheels


You excitedly kick your feet, looking up at your father with a wide grin. Your name is John Egbert, and today just so happens to be your seventh birthday. As an Egbert tradition, your father will let you make your own cake! You still had to watch him get the ingredients out and preheat the oven, which you didn't mind doing, really. He flashes a fond smile at you, and though you are sure you look like a total dweeb, you still reveal your buck teeth in a wide grin. He asks you if you're sure you can do this on your own, and you roll your eyes. "Yes, I can." You groan out. Honestly, you're smart enough to work things like cake baking out on your own!. He smiles broadly and tells you how proud he is so of you. Though you try not to show it, the praise uplifts and encourages you.  
Once he's left the room you grab the cake mix box. Eggs... Milk... Blah blah. You begrudgingly follow the cake box's directions and cautiously use the electric mixer. Somewhere during this you began humming a tune while you worked. But when all was done you bit your lip and stared warily at the oven. You would hate it if you burned yourself, just standing near it you could feel the heat. "Daddy?" You call out, hoping he's somewhere nearby, but after a few minutes flew by with no answer, you are feeling rather uneasy. You get a towel and try to remember how dad would do this. "Ouch!" You cry out in pain as your right elbow bumps against the side of the oven when you tried to withdraw it from the appliance. You bite your lip rather hard to try and make the pain subside. "D-daddy!" You cry out, tears leaking from your eyes as you gripped your skin, which felt like you were still pressing it against burning hot metal. This time, dad did appear, a concerned look on his face when he saw you. You look up shamefully. "I burnt myself." You croak out. You expect him to take back what he said about being proud of you. You couldn't even put the cakepan in the oven without scorching yourself! Instead, he just scoops your small body up wordlessly and leads you to the bathroom. "I-I'm sorry, dad." You hiccup, looking up at him like you just did the worst thing anyone could ever do.  
"It's okay, son. This happens a lot with me too, so I have to buy aloe vera and use lots of cold water." He informs you. You relax a bit, knowing even your amazing father burns himself sometimes. After a few minutes, the pain is nearly gone and you feel nothing but pulsating, cool relief.  
By the time you have to remove the cake from that darn oven, your father does it for you and then sets it on a plate. "Let it cool first, then you can decorate it."  
"Any way I want?" You ask incredulously.  
"Any way you want." He chuckles, ruffling your hair. You watch him fill out some paperwork on boring stuff for a few minutes, you're not sure why he is or why it makes him furrow his eyebrows and bite his lip. He must work really hard if he concentrates like that. You have the most greatest, awesomest, fantastic idea to decorate your cake.  
"Okay, I'm gonna go decorate my cake, but its a surprise so no peeking!" You tell him sternly. He nods with his usual smile. "Okay, I won't."  
You spend a good hour in the kitchen with assorted icing colors and nozzles. You make icing balloons and blue flowers with red tips. That was all easy, it was the lettering you struggled with. Eventually, you found yourself proud of your work. In purple lettering you wrote. "I'm so proud of you, Dad."  
When you pulled his hand and commanded him to cover his eyes, you felt a rush of excitement surge through your chest. "Cooome oon!" You urged, tugging harder at your fathers free hand. "Haha, okay, okay, sorry." He stumbled a bit as you led him blindly into the kitchen. You stopped him right at the counter. "Okay, open!"  
You had never seen a man smile as softly as he did when he saw your cake. He looked so touched by the letterings, and you just smiled with him. "Thank you so much, John." You hug him, and he hugs you back lovingly.  
"Hey daddy?" "Yes, son?"  
"Are you proud of me?" You ask hesitantly, all he does is smile.  
"Yes. Very much so."  
You find yourself smiling up at him. "I love you dad."  
"I love you too, son."

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